My Story

Page 2

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As a child, I had the misfortune of believing in the “boogey man”. So I religiously practiced a nightly ritual of checking under the bed, exploring every nook and cranny of my small closet, and looking behind the door just to make sure no one, I mean absolutely no one, was there. Feeling confident in my search, I would adjust the window shades and curtains in such away that not even one ray of light could seep through the bottom or sides, giving me complete certainty that no one could look in. Satisfied that I was safe, I would proceed to strip back the blanket and sheet just to assured that nothing lay hidden, lurking in the dark folds, ready to grab my feet, whisking me away to the abyss. Secure that I was alone, I planted myself squarely in the middle of the mattress, wrapping myself tightly inside the covers averting all risk that while I slept my limbs would fall pray to the creature that roamed my room waiting for that one opportunity to nab me and drag me away. Lastly, I’d adjust my head perfectly on the pillow, both ears unobstructed by covers, perched and alert in order to hear even the slightest of sounds piercing the silence of the night. Finally, feeling safe and secure, I was ready to drift into a peaceful, slumber.

After a few hours and in a deep state of sleep, I was suddenly awakened. What was unusual about this arousal was it did not occur from a typical source like a loud noise or a bad dream, but from a feeling that something or someone was present. It was difficult to see at first for the room was only dimly lit by the moon light that filtered through the light colored curtains. My eyes raced around the room, scanning every visible area for signs of an intruder. I could feel my heart pounding against my chest in anticipation of what I might find. But there was nothing. Not a thing. Just as my body began to slow from panic mode to it’s natural rhythm, I spotted a thick white cloud formation that appeared to be floating right though the hallway floor, spiraling slowing upwards, going right though the ceiling. Time stood still as I began to hear the voice coming out of this mist. The words were not spoken out loud but I instinctively knew the voice was real. This mist was the ethereal body of a black woman who had passed many years before. The whole event only lasted as few seconds but it was as if her whole life story flashed across my mind within this short fragment of time. Today I understand, the beautiful gift in having the ability to communicate with the spirits of those who have transitioned. However, as a six year old child, I was baffled by the experience and driven by the desire to solve the mystery and prove to myself that my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. So I set out asking questions of those who’s families had lived in the neighborhood the longest.

What I discovered in my investigation is that the house we lived was the one of the last houses to be built in this neighborhood. In order to make the room necessary to build, the developer had to get permission from all who had relatives buried to move the coffins to another location because ownership of the land was at that time in the hands of the church and it was use as a Cemetery. However, some of the burial sites were so old that the relatives could not be located, they just left those coffins in the ground and built right over them. All the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. And even though I practiced my nightly ritual with respect to the “boggy man” for many years to come, this experience taught me that what we fear is our own creation and not all is what it appears to be. I prayed for the opportunity that one day soon, I would have a chance to encounter a ghost once again.

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